Worthless
by Phoenix Pinion1
Summary: UPDATED 06,13,06. CH. NINE UP! This is now a compilation of two stories, Riku's and Sora's. No Yaoi. Rated so because of explicit scenes of self injury. And I'm not kidding with that one. Read at your own risk!
1. Sora's Tale, Worthless

Author's Notes: Okay, I'll warn you now. This story is very depressing. It deals with self-mutilation. PLEASE don't start self-mutilation after you read this! It is VERY dangerous, and NOT to be taken lightly. This is only a story; it's not true.  
  
Disclaimer- I don't own Kingdom Hearts. Squaresoft and Disney have that privilege.  
  
Worthless (by Phoenix Pinion)  
  
It's always the one you don't expect.  
  
I remember all those mystery novels I used to read back on the island. The author would always point so many clues to one particular person, and at the very end the murderer would be someone you would have never expected. The weeping mother, for instance. Or maybe the millionaire playboy.  
  
I stare at the bloodstained tool in my hand: a dagger. Sure, I stole it from Peter Pan, but it's nighttime. Peter is sleeping, and when he awakens in the morning, the dagger will be back in the sheath on his hip.  
  
Should I do it? I have before, of course, but now is such a dangerous time, when everyone is sleeping only in the next room. My lips curl into a bitter smile. What would they all do, if they found their Keyblade Master, with blood streaming down his arms?  
  
My hand starts to shake as my resolution dissolves. I want to so badly.to show the hatred I have for myself. My worthlessness. My sigh echoes about the ship. I am in the captain's room right now; one room below, everyone else sleeps. At least I hope they are sleeping.  
  
As I set the quivering dagger on my wrist, I feel it: a sudden thrill of power, bliss...sadness. The dagger slashes my skin with experience and ease, and adrenaline rushes through me as I stare at the blood fountaining from my wrist, as I feel the pain from my throbbing veins.  
  
I deserve this. I deserve it for not being able to keep Riku away from the darkness. I deserve it for not saving Kairi. I deserve to die for all of the sins I have committed.  
  
Almost on its own accord, the knife presses deeper, and I gasp in the pain, glorying in it. So many words to describe how I feel right now: exhilaration, happiness, relief, fright...excitement.  
  
I move the dagger farther up my arm, opening an older, disappearing scar, letting my wrist bleed freely. Giddiness overtakes me as a well of blood cloaks the tiny blade of the dagger. "Oh, God..." I love this feeling...it's, it's better than an orgasm. Deep in my mind, this scares me, but the adrenaline covers up these shaky emotions, and I carve yet another gash in my arm. My grin turns evil and masochistic as I cut into myself, my emotions, and my very sanity.  
  
I glance dully across the room at my Keyblade. Too bad //that// doesn't have any sharp edges, or else I could do this more often. I hate myself...oh, God, I hate myself...  
  
I wonder what Donald and Goofy would say if they knew. They might take the Keyblade away from me, since I have such an impure heart. Or they could just be ashamed. Hell, //I'm// ashamed of myself, of my weakness.  
  
I let myself bleed, it seems, until there is no more blood left in me, making two more wounds in myself. I also consider my ankles, staring down at the smooth, pink flesh...but my arms are enough as of yet. My masochistic craving may one day make me sever my skin somewhere other than my arms...but I am all right...for now...  
  
I tear my shirt a bit, using the cloth to staunch the bleeding. Finally, my addiction has been quieted. I wonder when I will mutilate myself next. Probably the next time I find something sharp.  
  
The salty seawater burns my aching wounds, but I must use it: I don't want any scars. After applying that, then wrapping the cloth around my arm as a kind of poultice, I creep back inside the hold, silently slip Peter's carefully washed dagger into his sheath, and fall asleep cushioned between Donald and Goofy.  
  
The next morning I awaken to a cry of, "You're hurt, Sora!" Donald and Goofy gape at my arm. I flex, smiling comfortingly as my make my excuse:  
  
"Sorry, guys, but I was just feeling restless last night. I fought some Heartless and got them all, but one of them clawed my arm. It's all right. I washed it with salt water; I'll be fine."  
  
Surprisingly enough, they take my lie without much comment. Donald only reprimands me slightly, warning me on the dangers of fighting such powerful Heartless alone. As we start to fly to the clock tower, searching for the Keyhole, I feel a sick smile twisting my lips.  
  
It's always the one you don't expect.  
  
~Owari~  
  
Author's Notes: Yeah, I know this wasn't very well written. The paragraphs don't flow, and I kind of jump around all over the place. I cranked it out in a half an hour, at one o'clock in the morning. It also hasn't been proofread. I didn't really mean to make it all about Sora cutting himself, but I am depressed, so it sort of came out that way. Sorry if I depressed some of you with this story. 


	2. Sora's Tale, Secrets Revealed

Worthless, Chapter two: by Phoenix Pinion

Longingly, I glance at my arm. I can visibly see seven scars, all from my last cutting…'session'…pink and faded, but still depressing reminders of my past. They are slightly raised and stand out on my pale skin, begging me to make them bleed again…

            But I painfully shut my eyes and look away. I'm past that now – or I thought I was – and I can't do it again. But the more I steal little looks at those small slits, the more I can imagine when and how I cut them, and when the blood gushed, and when I gasped in a pained sort of masochistic pleasure…and the more I want to do it again.

            "…Sora? Are you listening?" I jolt and guiltily cross my arms inward, looking up and feeling a blush color my cheeks; Donald, Goofy, Leon, Aerith, Yuffie and Kairi look at me quizzically. How long they have been staring, I cannot tell. 

            "Ummm…sorry, guys, my mind was wandering," I laugh weakly, "what were you saying?"

            The large eyes of Donald narrow in irritation. "Sora, what is wrong with you? Ever since we went to Neverland, you've been…distant," his voice fades on the last word. I feel a sudden swell of panic. There is accusation in those eyes. Could he know? 

            My eyes widen without meaning to, and I gasp, "I'm…I'm sorry. It's just that Kairi…now that she's here, I…" My half-assed excuse works: Yuffie laughs loudly and saves me from the embarrassing situation.

            "Oh, go easy on the kid. He's love-struck, can't you see?" Kairi blushes to my color, and turns her head away from me. There is general laughter as the attention is shifted off of me, thank God. Then Leon continues with his lecture of sorts, talking of Ansem, Hollow Bastion, and what to do next. I try to listen, but soon, again, I look at the scars.

            I know how wrong it is. I know that self-mutilation is probably the most taboo and unheard of in all things. But at the moment, I don't care, and I just can't get out of my head my worthlessness. The scars taunt me all the more, reminding me of Riku and my humiliating defeat at Hollow Bastion.

            I mean, Hell. He just walked up, took the Keyblade, basically told me I was not good enough for it, and left with my only friends since Destiny Islands was attacked. And if that doesn't bring down someone's self-esteem, then what does? I felt like jumping off the floating world right then and there, but Beast helped me get through it all. But I hate even thinking about losing the Keyblade, and quickly shift my thoughts back to my…addiction.

            Last time, I know I went overboard. When we returned to Traverse Town to restock and rest after I had locked Neverland, I had just gaped at the scars; deeper than ever, they had been etched into my skin for eternity as if I was an artist using my own body as my personal canvas. I was nauseated and sickened by my pitiful addiction; it was hard to accept my incredibly low self-esteem. 

            But addictions cannot easily be quieted…sometimes they never are…

            "Sora, all of our hopes rest on you," Aerith says quietly. Somehow, her soft voice penetrates to my ears more than Leon's. I look up at her, and suddenly feel like crying. How long must my pathetic secret stay a secret? Why did I start it? And how can I stop…?

            I have hardly an answer for any of them, and hold my tears. Though I was absolutely elated when Kairi regained her heart, and embraced me as a Heartless, I no longer feel that excitement. It's my fault she lost her heart anyway…maybe, just maybe, if I somehow could have kept Riku from going to the darkness, Kairi would have always been safe…Riku wouldn't have been evil…I wouldn't be waiting impatiently to get out of a conference so I could run away and cut myself…

            But everyone is dispersing, and it seems as though the meeting of sorts is over. Leon gives a loving look to Aerith, who smiles blindingly back, and they walk out together followed by Yuffie. Donald and Goofy leave to upgrade the Gummi ship for our hard journey ahead, and Kairi strays off behind Yuffie. I feel a devilish smile twisting my lips before I, too, leave.

            I force my loping gait to be relaxed and easy as I also exit the motel, drawing my Keyblade and readying to disperse of the small amount of Heartless that are still lingering in Traverse Town. Inside, I am shaking with dread…and excitement…

            Before I know it I am at the entrance to the Item/Weapon shop. Huey, Dewy and Luey grin at me.

            "Hello, Sora," Luey says. "What do you want?"

            "Do you have a dagger? It can be the cheapest one." I tremble harder. God, what am I thinking?! I can't do it again…no, I promised myself I wouldn't! But…but…

            "Our least expensive dagger is this one," Dewy pops up with a plain-looking, polished wood-hilted dagger. I take it in my hand, feeling it mold to my fingers, and shake even more. Already its edge starts to twitch towards my wrists, and I slam it down quickly on their counter.

            "I don't care how much it is, I'll take it," I plead desperately, and spill my green Munny orbs onto the counter – 400 in all – grab the dagger, and walk away.

            "Hey, you need your _change_…!" Huey quacks, but I am already out the door and couldn't care less about change. Finally…after two weeks, I can do it again…gasp in the pleasure of the pain, stare, fascinated, at the blood that will stream down my palm. 

            And I am finally there. I wade into the dark, yet clean, water of the so-called Secret Spot of Leon, up to my waist at its highest point, and ready for my task. I have removed my socks and shoes, and they are neatly piled right where the sandy rock dips off into the beginnings of the underground lake. Standing in the near-darkness, my eyes flutter as I waste no time and slit my wrist. This cheap knife is even sharper than Peter's; it slices through my skin with ease, and I gasp in pain.

            But I tire of such…trivial matters. I know that the last time, I wondered what it would be like to…taint, defile, call it what you will, other parts of my body, but I was too frightened to do it. But now, I am bold…I wish for more excitement…and after I easily slit five other wounds in myself, I draw my knees to my chin and kneel. My chin just reaches the water level.

            "Masochistic…" I gasp, "Oh, God…" 

            Slit ankles bleed even more than slit wrists.

            Now the water is beginning to tinge pink from all of my spilt blood, and I hack at my ankles with glee. I can feel myself losing my careful grip on reality, can feel my depression deepen, but I couldn't care less. _Die, you bastard,_ I think as I begin to sway in wooziness.

            "_Sora!_" Jolting in shock and pain, my dagger cuts deeper than ever, and I hiss in a cloudy, fog-filled pain as the voice continues in a shout, "What are you _doing_?!" 

            _Killing myself…can't you see?_

_~To Be Continued_

_Author's Notes – _Wow, I actually continued this story! Heh, I typed it really, really fast. Grammatical errors abound, but I just wanted to post this soon, or else I won't have a chance to. I didn't want my one-shot to have, like, no storyline like it did. So this time I focused more on storyline than just self-mutilation.

            So, who found out Sora's secret?! What is he gonna do now?! AAAAAAAAAAAHH! Find out tomorrow: Worthless, the new TV smash, on channel 3! No, just kidding. Find out whenever I update next, probably in about a week. Thanks, all! Bye ~PP


	3. Sora's Tale, Flashback

Worthless, Chapter 3: by Phoenix Pinion

Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts. I own the story idea, and that's all. Don't sue, you meanie-heads

            The sun shines brightly, warming the sand and seawater, welcoming another day in Destiny Islands. Palm trees that dot the tiny place sway gently in the breeze, small critters darting about underneath their shade. The day has hardly yet begun, but already Tidus and Wakka are playing on the beach, defeating imaginary foes, laughing just because they can; Selphie sits dangling her toes in the water on the dock and occasionally giggles at her friend's antics. As usual, Riku and Kairi are on the other side of the island. And, as usual, Sora has slept in again, and is late to meet his friends.

_            "Oh, where is he?" Riku says impatiently, pacing around the beach bare-footed, letting the fish playfully nip at his heels. "He's borrowing a book from me, and I want it back!" Kairi chuckles at him._

_            "You know Sora. He's late wherever he goes. Just be patient…" Sure enough, Sora lopes up a few moments after she speaks. He carries a large, hard-backed book. _

_            "Hey, guys!" he enthusiastically greets. "Sorry I'm late. I slept in again…" giving his trademark 'Sora' grin, he apologetically tussles his hair. "Riku, here's that book I borrowed." His face falls as he says this, and he looks very distressed as he hands his friend the book. Extending a hand and straightening his purple-silver hair, Riku feels a twisted smile grace his lips._

_            "It's a good book, huh?" he grins, knowing what the answer will be. Sora's bottom lip begins to quiver._

_            "It's so…sad!" he wails. "Mystery books aren't supposed to be sad!" He frowns and starts digging a hole in the sand with a toe of his oversized shoe as he continues in a small voice, "It shouldn't have ended like it did."_

_            "That's what Kairi thought too," Riku grins. "I liked the book, personally. It's my favorite." He doesn't say his theory on why he likes the book so much: he feels that it's part of a masochistic streak that runs through him, a streak that likes depression, sadness, and evil. Shrugging to himself, he carefully sets the book on a small wooden pole beside him, then smiles at Sora. Without thinking, he is still digging the hole in the sand; it could now house a small gopher._

_            "The detective shouldn't have been the one who ended up being the murderer," Kairi pipes up, "it was too surprising. It should have been the judge, in my opinion." _

_Sora earnestly nods assent. "I agree with Kairi. It should have been the judge! The detective being the murderer was just too unexpected. And him committing suicide in the end…" he trails off and shudders. The hole he has been digging at is now big enough for a cat to fit inside of._

_            Riku shrugs, smiling a little as he says quietly, "It's always the one you don't expect. That gives it the element of surprise." Silence greets his comment. For some reason, it has hit Sora especially hard. Staring into the sunrise, he narrows his eyes and frowns, trying to sort out why he has taken the casual observation so seriously. _

_            Kairi's sudden, loud laugh takes them both by surprise. "Well, who cares? It's only a book anyway! Let's go look for crabs!" _

_            Chuckling to herself and running away, she lets Riku try to catch up to her. Forgetting his consternation, Sora laughs too, and sends a surprised look to the oversized hole he is leaving before running after his friends. The book simply remains innocently on the wooden pole where Riku left it, hardly knowing how much trouble it is going to be for Sora's tortured mind in the future…_

_~To Be Continued_

_Author's Notes: _Hey, I updated! Cool, huh? And, if you haven't noticed by the present tense and the italics, this whole chapter, however short, is a flashback. You may think, okay, whatever, and what in fiery hell does this have to do with the rest of the story? Well, it refers back to the first chapter with Sora briefly recalling the mystery novels he had read on Destiny Islands. For some reason, I wanted to expand on that tiny little paragraph and make it into an entire chapter. And this is the best time to use that idea, 'cuz I can keep you guys hanging on who found out Sora's secret for another whole chapter! BWAHAHAHA! But I'll get back to the real storyline for the next chapter, I promise! Just wanted some light-heartedness in this fic before I continued. (personally, I really liked the hole thing with Sora. But that's just me. I like really dumb humor.) 

            Anyway, I'll try to get the next chapter up soon as I can. Thank you all for reading and reviewing this, I love every single one of you! Bye ~PP


	4. Sora's Tale, Revelations

Worthless, Chapter Four: By Phoenix Pinion

_Disclaimer – I own nothing but the story idea; Kingdom Hearts is not mine. Please don't sue_

            How can anyone be sure of themselves? You know, full of zeal, ready to greet the day with open arms no matter how bad things are for them, despite their world falling down around their shoulders? They must see how insignificant they are, in the big picture. I mean, in all of those different worlds I visited, I could see how small and inconsequential I was. I am essentially an infinitesimal speck of dust in this huge universe. But who isn't? Nobody can really make a difference…can they?

            Why does everyone try so hard, then? What can they do? Nothing, I would assume. Even after I did all that I could do, Kairi still lost her heart. I still lost Riku to the darkness. Ansem is still rampaging at the end of the world, waiting for me to come to him and die at his hands; worlds are still being destroyed by the Heartless. 

            …There I go again, being self-centered. I've always been so selfish. _What's in it for me? _I would always wonder. _How can I turn everything to my favor? _God, I'm such a fucking bastard.

            But, getting back to my original point, how can I be so different in such a bleak, desolate universe? How can self-mutilation be so out of the norm for such a race of insignificant beings? I honestly can't understand why people can be so shocked about my secret. Do they actually hold enough hope, enough stupid, useless hope, not to feel depressed? Not to hate themselves, like me?

            Maybe I _am_ different. Maybe something _is _wrong with me. But what does it matter? I'm so worthless, so _fucking _self-centered…what's the point of my living anymore if I simply burden others with the weight of my presence? I'm sure that my being wiped out of existence will relieve others, the ones that claim to be my friend only out of pity for me. 

            Yes. I deserve to die. Finally I have the courage to do it, too. (_I'm such a coward. At least I'm finally confronting it._) That's why I'm dying right now, inside as well as out.

            Why does anyone care? About anything at all? Themselves, other, the world? Who even _does _care? I certainly don't. About my hubris, my flaws, my weaknesses…my life.

            I don't care about my life.

            Maybe that's why I'm different from everyone else.

            Maybe that's why my life is now bleeding away through the haphazard, uncaring slits in my arms and ankles.

            Maybe that's why I'm sobbing helplessly as I kneel in the murky water.

            Maybe…

            Maybe that's why I feel nothing…

            …Nothing except the soft bed that slowly warms my chilled bones and awakens me from the terrifying darkness. I'm…alive? But how? Maybe…it was all a dream…? But no, when I glance at my arms I see soft white bandages wrapped about them, white bandages that are stained a light pink from my blood. I _am _alive…but how? Someone must have found me. I shiver a bit in cold fear at that thought: I don't know who found me and brought me here, and I'm still not sure I even _wanted _to be found in the first place. Speaking of here…where _is _here?

            Quietly glancing around me, my eyes darting in frightened circles, I see a red-canopied bed that I am top of with a warm quilt lying on top of me to warm me; my large boots lay neatly stacked in one corner. Now I recognize this place. I am in a room of the hotel. _Well, isn't it obvious? _My mind hisses at me. _You should have known right from the beginning, idiot! The place you tried to kill yourself in is right next to the hotel! _

I heavily sigh in agreement with my mind. I should have seen it sooner. I'm such an idiot. With another sigh, this one more simply an exhalation of air rather than an emotion-filled breathe, I bring my arm to my face. The pink is sickeningly speckled throughout the bandage, and I wince and look down to my ankles…to see the same thing. With a shudder, I look up. My own body is scaring me…that fact in itself is disturbing, let alone the fact that I'm not dead yet. I deserve to die…not to be resting in a hotel room…

            A sudden noise at the snugly locked door brings my frightened, panicked attention to it, and I watch, hiding my arms under the quilt, in a horrified fascination, as it slowly is unlocked, then begins to open. My rescuer steps in, ignoring my despairing look as he balances a tray of food on his arm: two mugs of an indistinguishable beverage, and one tray of food. I suddenly feel as if I am going to retch when he turns his dark, intense brown eyes on me, and sits on the edge of my bed with the tray now on his lap.

            "Sora," he says quietly.

            "Leon," I squeak back. His eyes are changing to an emotion I can pinpoint now: they stare at me sternly, yet in a concerned and scared way as he extends an arm to hand me a mug of the beverage. I notice for the first time that he wears a white long-sleeved shirt underneath his black one…and I begin to wonder. If he had saved me, why did he do it? Does he…do what I had just done…and if he does, why? Surprised, and still a bit panicked about my bloody arms, I take the cup and stare dumbly at it.

            "Drink it," his quiet voice penetrates my thoughts. "you need your strength." I'm still a bit subdued at the sheer _emotion _and _intensity _of his eyes, and stare down at the…tea?…as I begin to sip. It, almost shockingly to me, tastes wonderful. Leon lets me ponder and drink quietly, sitting and staring at me disturbingly, until I am finished. Then he whisks the mug from my hands and sets it on the tray. I'm shaking now…I'm just so panicked…what is he going to say?

            "Sora…what were you…doing when I found you underground?" When it's frightened like that, his voice sounds different than it usually does. Panic wells up inside of me, just like it did when I was accused during the meeting a few hours ago, but I swallow it down. _The best thing to do right now is to act calm and try to change the subject. Yeah. Act calm, try and change the subject. _

            "What were _you _doing there?" I challenge back. I think I did pretty well with an on-the-spot accusation, but Leon, who now looks pale and unsettled, simply waves the question off.

            "Now is no time for joking, Sora," he replies hollowly. His eyes leap in intensity as they continue to stare. And, suddenly, I feel so drained and tired. I've kept this a secret for far too long; I want to tell him everything, everything all the way from Neverland to now. I've needed to tell someone since then…but I've never wanted to…until now.

            So I do. I tell the whole story, including my thoughts of how worthless I am, how long I've wanted to kill myself, how often I've cut myself, how depressed I am…everything. I hardly notice that I'm sobbing, my large eyes spilling tears down my cheeks and onto my lap, until I'm finished with the story, and then I awkwardly knuckle them away with my hand. Leon's eyes are even a bit misted. But I feel better now…not as alone in the world anymore. With his eerily calm, yet intense eyes, he gazes coolly at my scars before deeply staring into my own orbs.

            "So you hate yourself," he murmurs, pausing for a moment to reach over with the rough pad of his thumb and nonchalantly brush away a tear that lingers on my eyelid. _What, are you kidding? _My mind screams. _I hate myself! _Loathe _myself! What else is there to do but cut yourself when you hate yourself so much? _I sniffle, shivering a bit, and nod at the question; Leon does not reply, but simply rolls his sleeves up. And I openly gape at the sight.

            Scars. There are more than nine scars, some horizontal, some vertical, some diagonal and some simply haphazardly sliced, on each of his arms. They are faded and a light shade of pink, only a few shades lighter than his skin, but visible none-the-less. I let my mouth hang open dumbly. These are not simply old battle scars: Leon has also tried to kill, or at least brutally maim, himself. Leon has gone through the same things I have gone through. Leon…Leon…oh my God…

            He laughs grimly at my alarm. "Did you think you'd see anything better?" he quips, but it is not very funny to me. All I see is the scars. So I'm not the only one…

            "Sora, listen to me," he says quietly. Still shocked, I close my mouth and force my attention on him and off of the hideous scars as he continues. 

            "Sora, I used to have my own world. It was a good place…had its share of villainy and evil, of course, but what world doesn't? It was a generally 'good' place, and I liked it very much. I had a father. I had friends. I had…I had a girlfriend." His voice slightly cracks on the last word, and I see his eyes mist, but he shakes his head and keeps talking.

            "As you know, the Heartless destroyed my world. Half dead, I was flung to a forest outside of this town. I was the only survivor of my entire world. Everyone else…dead, brutally killed by the Heartless. It was a little bit disheartening, to say the least." He pauses for a moment for emphasis, and if I have any comments, but I am too absorbed in his past to say a word.

            "I was devastated. Everyone…gone. My whole life…gone. It was too much. I had survivor's guilt…so I did this," he gestures at his arm, and I cannot help but wince at the vicious stabs, "with my gunblade. I thought things could not get any better. But Yuffie happened to find me…she healed me with a few potions, and told me a few choice words that made me want to live. I decided to tag along with her…and look where I am now. I have a wonderful girlfriend, good friends…my life has meaning." 

            He leans forward to stare at me, and I instinctively recoil back in shock. "What about your life, Sora?" he whispers. "Does it have meaning? Or are you just going through the motions?"

            To my own shock, I find myself crying. I know now…the depression, the sleepless, crying nights, the self-mutilation, all of it. It's because, in my own eyes, my life has absolutely no meaning. I would wonder almost constantly, _What's the point? Why should I be alive? Who cares about me? _Life was simply an unwanted side in my mind. Why deal with it? Why make the best of it?  

            Now I understand why I wanted to commit suicide. Oh my God…All the pieces have completely fit into place!

            Suddenly, Leon places his palms firmly on my down turned head, and slowly raises it until we are at eye level; the brown orbs blaze angrily at me. I take a long, shuddering breath as he hisses, "Just think of what would have happened if you would have carried out your plans back there in my training spot. How would everyone, not just your friends, not just this town, but _everyone_, had suffered? Did you even stop to halfway consider that before you selfishly pursued your own desires?" 

            He releases me with a jerk, then stands. "It's your choice on what you'll do next, Sora, whether you'll stay alive or decide to die. After all, I can't tell you how to live." He turns away from me. "Just don't fuck up." The last phrase is strongly hissed at me before he walks out the door…leaving me a little bit ashamed, a little bit frightened…and a little bit wiser than before.

            _Just don't fuck up._

I nod to myself. That sounds more like the rough and tumble, badass Leon. Right now, I have some serious thinking to do. But I already know one thing: my thinking will be how I can survive the assault against Ansem that's ahead…and not how I can commit suicide, or mutilate myself, any more. I begin to distractedly mumble to myself about Ansem's known weaknesses as I start to unravel the bandage on my right arm…my Keyblade-wielding arm. I know I'll have someone waiting for me to return victorious from _this _battle. Many someones, actually. The whole universe depends on me…and I like that feeling. Finally, my life has a purpose. Finally, I'm needed. Finally, I'm beginning to truly love myself.

            "Watch out, Ansem. I'm ready to face you…" 

_~Game Over…or Continue?_

_Author's Notes – Hmmmm…should I continue this? Would I get beaten upside the head with a baseball bat if I didn't? I think this is a pretty good ending for the story, but if you want me to extend it to another chapter and I get enough reviews about it, I just might._

_Yeah, I know that Sora had a turnaround rate from depressed to happy in about .2 seconds, but I know the feeling. It really isn't that OOC for a depressed person to turn around to being happy in a very short time. It happened to me after all. Yup, I know that feeling. ^_^ And no, Leon and Sora are not a couple! It's more of a father-son relationship! Sheesh…_

_Sorry about the long time before I updated again. I don't usually get to write, so when I do, I can usually finish a whole chapter in one sitting. So, yeah. If I do continue it, don't expect it to be up tomorrow…or in a week, for that matter. ^_^;;;_

_Anyway, thanks for reading all! If you want another chapter, review and I just might write one. Bye! ~PP_


	5. Riku's Tale, The Beginning

Worthless: The Second Story: Riku's Tale, By Phoenix Pinion

_Disclaimer – I do not own Kingdom Hearts, nor any of its characters, only the idea of this fanfiction. Please don't sue_

WARNING – This story contains vivid scenes of self-mutilation. It can be triggering to those who mutilate themselves. Self-mutilation is extremely dangerous and not to be taken lightly. If self-mutilation disturbs you, offends you, or if reading about it is triggering to you, then by all means, DON'T READ.

     If there is one thing that I still recall from living in Destiny Islands, it is that everyone who knew would ask _why. _It seemed like they had lost all grasp of the human language but that one word, that sickening word, _why?_, as their horrified eyes would stare at my scars. Their eyes seemed to speak more words with their wide staring than their mouths. Begging for answers, all that could tumble from their mouths was, "Why?" I do not believe that even one of them understood that there is never a simple answer to that question; all that they understood was the scars, was that I was hurting myself willingly and intentionally, and most of the time I doubt they even understood that either.

     I guess it _would _be a bit unnerving to see something like that. When I first started out, with a small knife I had stolen from my mother's silverware drawer, I was afraid to even break the skin. It was nerve-wracking, I have to admit, to realize that one slip of the knife could be deadly, or that your mistake could be broadcast to the world when you try to keep such a large, devastating secret. My first cuts were small, thin welts that did not even bleed – they were created mostly from the pressure of my hand pressing a knife nervously to my skin, as I cast quick glances to my closed bedroom door, afraid of an unwanted intrusion. I sometimes even think that those first cuts were of curiosity rather than depression. I was not particularly sad when I started mutilation – I simply remembered that once I had read a book with a main character that cut herself. It had fascinated me, especially her vivid descriptions of the tortured pleasure it gave her. No, those first cuts were not of depression. Soon, however, depression just gave a convenient excuse for the taboo thing I was doing.

Awhile after that first venture into cutting, I grew bolder, moving the still razor-sharp knife to my wrist, where so many lifegiving veins flowed blood to the rest of my body, pressing the knife deep into my soft skin…watching in a horrified fascination as blood began to dribble down my palm. But it scared me, that first time I drew blood on myself, scared me into wondering how far I could go; almost immediately I pressed a towel to the wound, breathing heavily, eyes wide in terror of what I had done. I did not realize how badly I was shaking until I peeled the blood-saturated towel from my wrist and saw the terribly deep, jagged wound my trembling, knife-wielding hand had left on it. 

     It was surprising to me to note, however, that after the wound had healed (leaving a large pink scar, as I was deeply ashamed to note) and a few days of not worrying about my secret being revealed had passed, an odd change had come over me. Whenever I saw that scar, I thought of feelings that I had had while cutting it. And before the panic had taken over, there had been a _lot _of feelings. One of them had been a type of exhilaration, an excitement that I had never felt so strongly before. Another was a terrific pain, an affliction that hurt so badly it made me lightheaded and dizzy. It almost felt as though I had vented _everything –_ my frustrations, my anger at myself, my depression – into that cut. And I was beginning to want those roller-coaster emotions again; when I actually cared about others finding out, such a long time ago, the realization I would go farther and cut again excited me to no end.

     I loved – still do love, in fact – the sight of the blood streaming down my palms. It is a dark, sultry red, a beautiful red, and such a contrast from my ugly pale, milky smooth skin. Seeing it drip slowly into the cup that my hand has made for it, watching it dribble between each finger and hearing it trickle onto the floor, gives me such a thrill of power. Just thinking that I have the power to make myself _bleed – _not just bleed, but _bleed_ – and thinking that I could very possibly have that same power over others, makes my head spin. 

     Now that I think about it, all that I really knew then was the blood. It was what brought me back to my bathroom every single day, shaking and trembling with need to feel that sharp, silky touch of the razor on my body. I _wanted _to hurt myself. I _wanted_ to see that blood, that glorious blood, the only sign to me that I was still alive and not dead physically like I was on the inside. Soon those emotions that I felt while I cut were the only emotions that I felt at all; a terrible, cold numbness had overtaken me. I had fallen into a pit; a pit of depression and suicidal thoughts, and the only thing that seemed to be able to pull me out was that razor. I had no knowledge of it then, but the razor only served to pull me out, but then push me back in deeper than I had been before. 

     But at the time I'd kinda liked it.

     I still do kinda like it.

     It may be hell, to cut desperately every single day, to marvel at the blood, to feel the numbness until the razor slices my skin, to know I'm in a vicious cycle that I can never be pulled out of…but at least it's a familiar hell.

     With that thought I sigh deeply, reach into my pocket. I pull out a tiny razor blade that no one knows about – not even Maleficent.

     And I cut.

_~To Be Continued…maybe_

_Author's Notes – _I'm going to start with a little rant about Worthless.

     It sucks. Terribly.

     It does not describe true cutting at all. At the time that I wrote it, I did not really understand – I really didn't understand at all – what people's thoughts were when they cut and why they did it. I think I do a lot more, now. Hence, this chapter. Sure, I know I'm going to alienate you guys with this…it's really, _really _detailed about cutting. And no one likes that. I just need to get these feelings and emotions out before I explode, you know? And I stopped cutting (and thank God that I did. If any of you guys are considering cutting, please don't. It only causes hurt and pain to you and everyone around you.) …so I can't do it any other way than write. 

     So, I think I'm going to make Worthless into a compilation of sorts between two different stories with two different viewpoints, but with a common theme – self-mutilation. The first story was Sora's. It depicted his struggle to understand what he was doing, and why. The second one is Riku's. I always thought of Riku as being more learned in what he is doing to himself, and more experienced. This will be his story of cutting in his past, his present, and his future.

     And yeah, I guess I should mention one more thing…my laziness as an authoress to update!! @_@ I really don't have an excuse for that one. I've been going through a hard point in my life lately and writing has been one of my last priorities. I am _so _sorry. If you guys want to flame me, I deserve every bit of every flame I get.

     Oh, and one more thing – _huge, huge _thanks to Kitana5 for their review. Yes, I did borrow their bit about "a familiar hell" and I included it in my story. I give them _full _credit for that whole bit. Kitana5, if it bothers you that I used some of your review for my story, please tell me and I'll immediately take it out. Thanks again. ^_^ 

     Anyways, if you guys have still stuck with me through this looooooooong period of no updates, then I love you forever! Please review ^_~ And please don't flame because of the cutting. If you don't understand how anyone could do that to themselves, and think I'm a sick bastard for writing such a story, then remember that I _did _warn you beforehand! ^_^ Though I guess I deserve them. So, thanks for reading, all! Till the next update (review if you want me to continue this story, and I will!), bye! ~PP


	6. Riku's Tale, Memories

Worthless: The Second Story, Memories – By Phoenix Pinion

_Disclaimer – __I do not own Kingdom Hearts, nor it's characters, only the idea of this fanfiction. Please don't sue_

_**WARNING – THIS STORY CONTAINS VIVID SCENES OF SELF-INJURY. IT CAN BE TRIGGERING TO THOSE WHO HARM THEMSELVES. SELF-MUTILATION IS EXTREMELY DANGEROUS AND NOT TO BE TAKEN LIGHTLY. IF SELF-HARM DISTURBS YOU, OFFENDS YOU, OR IF READING ABOUT IT IS TRIGGERING TO YOU, THEN BY ALL MEANS, DON'T READ. (AND I'M NOT KIDDING ABOUT THIS, EITHER.)**_

**__**

_Sometimes I feel like a painter_

_using my body as my own personal canvas_

_using a razor instead of a paintbrush._

_My studio – a bathroom, splattered with red stains of my own making,_

_red, a_

_dark_

_sultry_

_red,_

_the only color that is used in my masterpiece._

_Masterpiece?_

_I'm no masterpiece, I'm a ruined canvas,_

_scarred and broken_

_battered and bruised_

_pining for a release that won't come_

_screaming for an end that no one will let me have._

_Hell? Yes, it is hell…but it is a familiar hell,_

_A hell that I strive to embrace,_

_the hell of destroying myself from the outside in_

_of slitting my wrists until they bleed red_

_glorious _

_blood…_

_the only color that is painted across the ruined canvas that is me._

With a lazy sigh, I stay my hand on the – coincidentally, red – pages of my journal and stop writing, leaning back on the warm sand to survey my work. Not the best poem I've written, but not bad for a spur-of-the-moment whim. I am also pleased with its subject matter – it had taken me over three months to come to terms with my own self-mutilation; after each cutting session, I would lean over my bathroom sink and cry. My tears mingled with my spilt blood, the guilt and shame almost overwhelming for my tortured mind to accept. It was so unbelievable to me that something that felt so good, so _right, _during its execution, could turn out to be so wrong after it was over and done with. Finally I've realized all the nuances, the quirks, of self-injury – to feel the pleasure of the cut, one must also accept the shame of its aftermath. Obviously I've been able to accept it, I think ruefully as I give a quick glance to my heavily scarred arms. Sometimes it truly bothers me, to see all of those haphazard cuts placed uncaringly on my skin, to know I deserve nothing more. Sometimes I'm not even sure if I even deserve them.

Sighing heavily, I shift position on the sand, letting the sun's warm rays hit my clothed chest. That's one thing that I love about Destiny Islands; 99 percent of the time the sun is shining. My favorite pastime, besides having fun with Sora and Kairi (_and cutting, _my mind nastily interjects), is to laze on the beach on my own and write in my journal. It is a very good stress reliever, and sometimes even helps me with my self-mutilation. Anger at myself is what drives me to hurt myself in my bathroom at night, watching in fascination as the blood dribbles down my palms, and if I can release some of that fury and tension into my journal, the urge isn't quite so bad. It makes for interesting entries, at least.

"Hey, Riku! Whatcha doing?"

Quickly slamming my journal shut and hiding it behind me, I sit up to see loping towards me with that awkward, yet strangely graceful gait of his. He wears an excited grin on his face, and I cannot help but feel a sudden surge of jealousy and resentment. His smiles are genuine, truly happy, and come without force. I wish I could be as happy as he, without all of this inner torment.

"Hey Sora," I reply, carefully turning my arms inward so that he will not notice the scars. I hardly even need to hide it, really – it is almost surprising how unobservant my friends are. Maybe they do not expect to see the scars; so much so that they do not even check for them. Sora reaches me and doesn't slow, simply tackles me in a huge, affectionate hug. For the first time that day, a real smile tugs at my lips. Sora and Kairi seem to be the only ones that have that affect on my these days. They pain of the pressure of his body against some of my fresher cuts doesn't even hurt that badly.

"Gosh you must be bored just sitting here in the sand. I've been looking for you all day. Guess what I have at my house, it's your favorite dessert!"

His excited words tumble over each other at a mile a minute, and I cannot help but grin as I push him off of me and arise, brushing sand off of my clothes. "Dessert? What do you mean?"

An eyebrow is raised at me as Sora's goofy grin remains on his face. "Strawberry shortcake…my mom made it myself…c'mon, I _know _it's your favorite! …"

Words continue to be spoken from his mouth, but suddenly they are fuzzy and distant to my ears. Abruptly the smile is wiped off of my face as memories flood my mind.

_It was one of the only times it had ever rained on Destiny Islands. Starting out bright and sunny as usual, the sky had soon been covered in dark clouds; it did not take long for rain to fall on the island. A cold wind blew outside, taking the deep, booming rolls of thunder and echoing them to every corner. Across the sky, lightning flashed at regular intervals. Safe and dry at Sora's house, a fascinated Riku and Sora sat on his bed watching the storm. _

_ "Look at all the rain," Sora murmured in awe. "It's a good thing we're inside and not caught in it right now!"_

_ "Yeah," Riku agreed, staring at the steady slew of precipitation. "It's crazy. Like…like a hurricane or something!"_

_"Riku, sweetheart," Sora's mother called from the downstairs kitchen, "You're staying for dinner, aren't you? It may be hard for you to get back home with the storm…"_

_ "Yes'm, I know," Riku replied. "I was also thinking, if it's ok with you, that I should just stay the night…the storm is pretty bad, and I don't know if it will be safe to go home in. My mother knows I'm here, so she won't mind."_

_ Sora's mother was quick to answer; she was fond of Sora's friends and enjoyed when they stayed the night. "It's fine, dear. Since you two are staying here, why don't you help me out with dinner?"_

_ Good-natured whining and groaning escaped the room as the two boys managed to tear their gazes from the window and ventured downstairs. Sora's house was a cozy, warmly lit cottage of sorts. The kitchen was small, but still comfortable, and wonderful aromas floated to their nostrils as they entered it. A pot of delicious-looking stew simmered on the stove, and Riku could feel himself starting to drool. "Smells wonderful!" _

_ Sora laughed. "Everything my mom makes smells wonderful." Both boys grinned at each other and quickly dipped a finger into the pot to acquire a quick taste; they were quickly batted away._

_ "Don't put your grimy fingers in there, we'll eat soon enough. Wash up in the sink, then you two can help with dessert." After dipping their hands in the sink full of soapy water and rinsing them off, the boys ventured back to the kind lady. A knife was quickly shoved into Riku's hand; his eyes widened at the sight of the blade, and his breath quickened for just one moment as the knife blade glinted in the reflection of his wide eyes. It looked just like _his _knife, the one that he had pressed into his wrist a few nights before. The welt was still there. The wound hadn't bled, but the adrenaline had been enough; for some reason, the sight of that blade made Riku want to do it again. Not to just welt the skin, but to _cut _it. To make it bleed. He had not actually done it yet, and perhaps then was the time to start...But then Riku blinked, shaking his head and banishing the thoughts from his mind, and the moment was lost. Another second passed and he was also handed a bowl of damp, newly washed strawberries._

_ "Riku, you can slice strawberries for me. Sora, I need you to whip the cream, alright? We're having strawberry shortcake!"_

_ "Mmm, my favorite!" Riku groaned appreciatively before beginning to carefully slice the strawberries. The sound of Sora whipping a bowl of cream was the only noise in the room for a time. But in the seconds that followed, no one, not even Riku himself, could be able to explain exactly what happened._

_ All that Riku could remember was that suddenly the half-sliced strawberry was dropped to the floor by his nerveless fingers and that his eyes were staring in horrified fascination at the blood dribbling through his fingers and dripping down the floor. A long, wide gash covering the length of his left palm was bleeding profusely, and was deep enough to be a threat. No words could be summoned to his lips and he gaped at the bright red wound, as he started to quietly tremble in shock and wonder. His thoughts were a blur; suddenly the only thing his mind could focus on was the cut, was the blood, was the pain. It felt good, in a way – like her was finally getting what he deserved. Yes, it felt real good. Even Sora's terrified yell and the cry of, "Riku! Oh my god!" from Sora's mother could not make him tear his gaze away from that glorious scar…_

The scar that even now my eyes stare at. It is long and pink, slightly raised, a reminder to this day of my "accident" at Sora's house. _Was_ it an accident? My mind asks me nastily, and I flinch at the thought as if I was struck. Even now, three months later, I do not know if that knife slicing across my skin was my doing or not. I cannot even measure how many hours I have sat in bed at night, staring with wide eyes at that scar, wondering if it was an accident or not. The last thought running through my mind before sleep would overtake me always was, "_Did _I do it on purpose?" I also occasionally wonder if that scar was what started the whole self-mutilation phenomenon for me. Before the incident, there was one small welt on my wrist that had not even bled and was hardly noticeable. After the incident, scars multiplied rapidly on any pure skin they could find on my arm, growing deeper and deeper, tumbling over themselves like a patchwork quilt, taking longer and longer to heal…

Suddenly I realize that Sora is still waiting for a reply to his earlier question. He stands staring at me with wide eyes and an inquisitive expression on his face. "…Riku? Hello? Still here?" Guiltily I realize that I have been so absorbed in my own thoughts that I have ignored Sora and his pleas now for over a minute. I snap myself out of my daze with a blink. Forcing a smile onto my lips, I glance down at my hands and try in vain to quell their sudden trembling.

"Um, Sora…that sounds great and all, but…I think I'm gonna go home." His face looks even more confused. Obviously that was the last response he was expecting to hear from me. He is reaching a hand out to gently touch my arm, and I feel a sudden surge of panic until I realize he is simply worried about my sudden jumpiness, and not being accusatory. To tell the truth, I do not even know myself why I am suddenly acting the way I am. But I know there will be another disaster if I journey again to Sora's house, if I go to his kitchen and see his mother again, see the strawberries freshly washed and sliced on top of a shortcake, topped with whipped cream, if I see a knife on the table…

I am shaking harder. If I see a knife on the table, I know exactly what will happen. I cannot risk another "accident"; it will bring attention to my arms and might cause suspicion. "I'm…I'm very tired," God, I have no idea how I can keep that smile on as I stand in front of my best friend and lie straight to his face. I have never told a lie to him before. Never. And yet here I am, grinning like an idiot and being untruthful to him, though terrified emotions are flowing through my mind like a river. "I think I want to take a nap."

"But it's the afternoon." Sora is still just as confused, and now I am afraid his feelings are hurt too, because I am making excuses not to be around him. A sudden surge of pain hits my heart. God, I'm being such a jackass. But the feelings are getting stronger; the panic is taking over and the tsunami in my mind won't go away until I do the one thing that will get rid of it…

"I'm sorry, Sora," I let the words quickly tumble from my mouth before shaking off his worried hand, turning, and quickly walking away from him. I can hear his saddened mumble of, "…Bye, Riku…" as I walk. _You hurt him, you ass, _the angry thought chastises me. But at the moment all I want to do is cut…is make more scars on these horribly abused and scarred arms of mine…

And it is not until I have slammed and tightly locked the door to my bathroom, trying to catch my breath again, that I realize my journal is still lying innocently on the sand at Sora's feet…

_To Be Continued_

_ Author's Notes – Ooooooooh, suspense!! Is Sora gonna read it? Is Sora gonna even know it's there?? What will happen? …Well, right at the moment, I don't know either. I just liked the little twist I created at the end…the fact that someone actually could find out about Riku's secret. Because, after all, Riku must put pretty angry, private stuff in there if writing it keeps him from cutting himself. Those types of journals are usually pretty intense. So, I don't really know what's going to happen. And as a side note: Riku and Sora are nothing but close friends, ok? No yaoi here! Really, they are only friends. And I did write that poem in the beginning...but I am not very proud of it. Hence the reason I stick to short stories and nix the poetry._

_ Well, I liked this chapter up until the last 6 – 7 paragraphs. Is it just me, or do they seem _waaaay _too rushed? I'm just really not proud of them. At least I actually updated though, right? I mean, I know I've lost all my fans, but at least maybe somebody will find it. Hopefully. Meep. Ducks as the two angry fans she has left pelt her with rotten tomatoes Ok, I know I never, ever update. But now that tis summer, the updates might (keyword might) get a little more regular. Hopefully. …Meep._

_ Well, as always, if you have anything to say about this chapter, then review! Please! Thanks a lot! And if you are _still _a fan of my work even though it's been an eternity since an update, THANK YOU!! I love all of you guys, I really do. Thanks again for stickin with me. Till the next update (hopefully soon!), bye! PP_


	7. Riku's Tale, Discovery

_Worthless, the Second Story, Discovery: by Phoenix Pinion_

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, simply the story idea. Please do not sue_

**_WARNING – This story contains vivid scenes of self-mutilation. It can be triggering to those who mutilate themselves. Self-mutilation is extremely dangerous and not to be taken lightly. If self-mutilation disturbs you, offends you, or if reading about it is triggering to you, then by all means, DON'T READ._**

_ A tear of helpless frustration builds in my eye, but I am still too shaky to move, let alone wipe it away, and I feel it slowly trickle down my cheek, tracing every curve of it before falling to the floor with a tiny splash. I never wanted Sora to know. I never wanted anyone to know…but especially not Sora. My best friend, the only one that keeps me from cutting even deeper than I already do, the only one whose image in my thoughts prevents me in spilling too much blood. He would never understand; he is a pure boy, one with no anxieties, fears, or worries. That will change, however, as soon as his eyes behold the pages of that ever-so-private journal. His thoughts of me will change, as well. I will no longer be just Riku to his eyes, I will be tainted, a shell of my former self…scarred._

_ I don't think I could take that. _

_ "Riku? Are you all right in there? You've been in there almost ten minutes! And the way you bolted in…it looked like you had seen a ghost!" I breathe a sigh of relief – neither Sora or my habit was mentioned. There is hope yet… My shaking hand hastily wipes away any evidence of tears as I try to gather my thoughts enough to spout back a legitimate excuse. _

_ "Y – " There is a moment of silence as my voice gives out and I desperately try again. "Yeah, mom, I'm fine. Must have had a touch of bad food or something…I'll be out in a minute." Luckily, the excuse sounds completely plausible; my voice sounds normal, if not a bit tired. I realize that I am so accustomed to hiding my every emotion behind a mask that, even after realizing that my biggest secret can be revealed, I can still be calm and collected on the outside while my mind is in turmoil. My ears register a worried sigh from downstairs._

_ "Well, ok…hmm, that stew must have had a rotten ingredient in it…if you need anything, just call me, honey…"_

_ "Ok mom," I quietly reply, glancing at either arm and seeing the scars, hoping beyond hope that Sora decided not to be nosy for once, and that he didn't read it. A hope that is almost improbable, really, as I know Sora loves to discover things – especially secret things that he isn't supposed to know about at all. I know him well enough to realize that it is a silly dream that I am nurturing, and I sigh heavily; the wild adventures that I am led on almost every day are possibly the most exciting ventures of my day and are the things I always conjure to mind, that always make me stop right before the cut becomes deeper, when my hand shakily hovers above my heavily bleeding arm, ready to slash more scars into my already scarred skin…_

_ A cold pillar of dread rouses me from my thoughts as my ears pick up a knock at the door. Who else could it be but Sora? I have no choice but to face him. In my cracked mirror I check, double check, and triple check for any tear stains on my cheeks, and any clue – swollen eyes, puffy face – that may point to the fact that I was crying. Luckily my body has grown accustomed to the fact that I must hide every emotion that I feel, and it looks perfectly normal. Neither my mother nor Sora will have any suspicions at all. Maybe it is a good thing that I remembered about my journal before I injured myself in that bathroom, for I have no fresh cuts to worry about, no blood to scrub off of my clothing, no shame in my eyes to try to cover up; there is just fear. Quietly opening my bathroom door and erasing every emotion from my face, I force my mind, seething with turmoil, to calm down as well as I slowly walk down the stairs to the door. What's done is done, and I must face the consequences myself. Quivering a little, my hand tightens on the doorknob and slowly opens it._

_ Sora stands there, just as I thought, but there is his usual dopey smile on his face. His eyes reflect the happiness, and at once a surge of some type of emotion crashes through me. He must not have read anything, to have such a cheerful grin. I feel my lips twitch upwards into a smile as my body sags just a little bit in infinite relief. My secret is safe…my eyes behold my journal, my precious journal, clutched in his left hand._

_ "You dropped this," he chirps, holding it out for me to retrieve. I hardly notice his eyes subtly avert to my outstretched, scarred arm as I extend it to pick up the journal. Relief is crashing through me so forcefully that I am almost shaking. He didn't read it…he didn't read it…My worrying was not even necessary, because, for once, his curiosity didn't get the better of him._

_ "Thank you, Sora," I whisper shyly, smiling at him, thanking him not only for returning it but also for not reading it. "Thank you so much…"_

_"No problem," he smiles back. "Try to be more careful next time, ok? A journal is a pretty private thing to lose…" With that last thought, he cheerfully bounces away, letting me collapse against the doorframe, quivering in happiness and relief. This was the closest call I've ever had, but it has taught me to be a lot more careful guarding my secret. I don't think I'll ever write in this journal anywhere besides the privacy of my own room. Still a bit loopy with exhilaration, I stumble up to my bedroom: I need to capture this scare, and my happiness, inside the very thing that I almost lost for good. As I open the journal with shaking hands, preparing to scribble all of my thoughts in it before they leave my mind, I suddenly notice a folded up piece of paper stuffed inside of the small red book. I know that I never put it in there, so my eyes narrow in confusion and disbelief as I open it and read what the oh-so-familiar handwriting tells me:_

_ Dear Riku,_

_ Don't you know that what you're doing right now is hurting you? The blood you're spilling right now isn't saving or helping anybody else, and it certainly isn't making anything better for you. You may think it's helping you to be able to cut yourself and release all of those emotions, but it's just hurting you more and more with each cut. If you ever get the urge to do it again, try to take your mind off of it instead of doing it, ok? You can always come over to my house, no matter what time of day – or night – it is. The two of us can just hang out, or chat about it. I will always be here for you to talk to if you need it. I will never bring it up around you, but if you want to bring it up then I will talk to you about it for as long as you need. Remember, before you make another cut – there are people here that love you._

_Your friend,_

_Sora_

It was because of that note that I refrained from cutting for almost a year. Whenever the urge arose I would take out that note – always tightly folded in a small square in the pocket on my shirt – and read it through several times, until I calmed enough to stop thinking about it. The fresh cuts faded into scars, the scars simply faded. I honestly felt no urge to cut during this time, and it was a wonderful feeling.

I think that there was a mutual understanding of sorts between us, really. Sora definitely didn't approve of my habit, but he did seem to understand, and he didn't rebuke me for it either. He never treated me any differently after he discovered my journal, and I did the same towards him. Every once in a while I remember noticing his eyes dart to my scars, which I brazenly would not hide; there was always a strange look in his eyes, maybe fear, maybe depression. At the same time, however, he would almost look pleased, because he never saw any new scars. Then he would look away, and I would pretend that I never saw him look in the first place, and the moment would be gone. He was true to his word – he never mentioned my scars or self-injury in general around me again. I never talked to him about it either, but it was never awkward – simply comfortable, a camaraderie of two friends that understood each other and never needed to talk.

It's that letter that I look at now as I lean against the polished wood railing of Captain Hook's ship and admire the beautiful starry night. The paper that it was written on was once white, but now, after everything that I've been through since my island was destroyed, it has faded into a light yellow color. The corners are ripped and torn, and the folds in it have been used so many times that the whole thing is dangerously close to falling apart; Sora's writing was in pencil, and the lead has smeared and faded so badly that it is almost impossible to read. It really does not matter, however, as I have read the letter so many times that I know it by heart. This letter, and the small razor that I keep tucked away inside my pocket, are the only things I own that Maleficent doesn't know about. She has seen my scars, and though I doubt she worries about them or my well being, she does practically rip her hair out trying to figure out how I am able to cut myself right under her nose without her knowing about it. "What are you hiding from me?" she screeches, gaping at my fresh scars, and I remain silent, turning and walking away from her; it is my strongest power against her, and I revel in it. Sometimes it feels like the only control I still have in my life. Maybe it is.

The stars are beautiful, and I'm pleased at the fact that I can actually enjoy them as I carefully refold the paper and tuck it back into its hiding place in my breast pocket. It has been almost three days since I cut myself, and since Destiny Islands was destroyed, it is a new record for me. After all, I found Kairi's heartless body a few days ago, and I still can remember Maleficent's words to me, "There is hope yet, Riku, that your friend may be resurrected." I gaped at her, feeling sudden ecstatic tears pushing to my eyelids; Kairi could be saved? By me? It not only boosted my ego and made me believe in myself, but I also felt a surge of pride: I had beaten Sora. Finding Kairi has rejuvenated my spirits – she may have no heart, but I know her recovery is in my grasp – and Sora following me and falling right into my trap is just the icing on the cake. Even looking at my scars does not bother me that much; I haven't cut for three days, and who says I need to cut again at all? Soon the cuts will heal; soon she will be healed. It's an enlightening feeling, to know that I hold the power to Kairi's life.

Is this what hope is? …It's such a wonderful feeling. Smiling a little bit, I throw my head back and stare at the stars, drinking in their power and majesty. Kairi will be fine, I hold the ace over Sora, even though he has defeated Captain Hook, and I am actually considering giving up on my self-injurious behavior. It sounds too good to be true, but for once, it isn't; I am finally taking control of my life.

Hoisting myself off of the railing, I contemptuously laugh out loud to my scars as my legs briskly stride into my cabin; I will be leaving this place soon to return to Hollow Bastion and want to get a few hours of sleep before I go. My feet make quiet thudding noises as I pad over to my bed, about to lay down for a quick nap; I suddenly stop short as I notice an odd stain on the ground. It is a red, almost circular stain, with several smaller drops surrounding it, and I have seen the liquid enough throughout the years to know for sure that it is blood. Suddenly feeling tense, my eyes narrow, and I kneel towards it for a closer look. I have not touched my razor since I have been on this ship, so it is not my blood; Heartless only have purple, gooey liquid inside of them, so it cannot be them either. After Sora's attack, Captain Hook never made it back into the cabin to bleed. Whose can it be? The fact that I cannot deduce why there is blood on my cabin frightens me, and I do not know why. The pattern of the blood reminds me of how it used to look when I would spill blood in my bathroom on Destiny Islands, for some reason; it mostly dripped in one large puddle, but because I shook so much with bliss and guilt as I did it, there would be smaller drippings around the large one. A cold feeling washes over me, and I shiver a bit. Looking at the stain and thinking those thoughts about my cutting suddenly makes me nauseous, and I swing down the nearby ladder to the hold, deciding that I cannot sleep in the same room as that stain. I'll sleep somewhere else if I have to – I just want to get away from that stain. It is reminding me too much of what I used to do to myself…of the tears I would shed during my "sessions"…and I don't want to remind myself of that, not when I'm so close to giving it up for good. Deeply shaken, I try to forget all of the thoughts that I haven't thought for three days, and remember my happiness about finding Kairi. My thoughts are interrupted, however, as I walk by a room connected to the hold and hear a strange sound.

It is a twisted gasp that assails my ears, one of warped, almost pleasured pain. I recognize this sound…it is the sound that I have made before as I slice the razor across my skin, as I see the contrast of the blood against my milky skin, as I feel the guilt of what I am doing. It's a familiar sound that fills me with fear and anxiety…What is making that sound? Curiosity, but also dread, overcomes me as I gently grasp the doorknob and open it.

It's…It's Sora.

Back turned from me, he sits with his legs slightly crossed as they always were on Destiny Islands. His shoulders heave up and down as he pants and gasps, and…what's that in his hands? When he turns his hand slightly towards me, realization and panic hits me harder than a lightning strike.

His fingers loosely clutch a small dagger, and blood – fresh, warm, red blood – oozes off of it and onto the floor. There are no enemies in the room for him to fight with the dagger, just himself…No blood for him to spill but his own…

All I can do is stare, feeling waves of nausea hit me hard, as Sora's hand holding the dagger lifts…his left arm is such an easy target as he drops his hand onto it, as a bright rush of blood flowers from his wrist and drags itself down his arm and onto his palm…Sora is gasping and panting at this attention his arm is receiving, and he even saws the dagger a few times more in the wound, back and forth, opening even more veins, before lifting the dagger and watching in fascination the blood streaming, flowing, tumbling, dripping from his arm, onto the floor…dripping into a large puddle, but his shaking causes a few smaller drops to fall outside of the puddle…the blood streaming, flowing, tumbling, dripping…

Oh my God…

Numbly I grope for the doorknob behind me, fingers scrabbling so loudly that I'm almost positive he'll hear, breath coming out in short, panicked gasps, almost like Sora's, feeling such pangs of sorrow and hurt lancing through me that I feel faint. The doorknob finally succumbs to my panicked, shaking fingers, and I somehow manage to stagger outside, everything is a blur, I don't know how I made it but somehow I'm outside, arms hooked around the railing, forehead weakly leaning against the damp, cold wood. The journal. It's because of the journal, if he had not found it the thought never would have entered his mind, he never would have done it, oh my God…

The guilt. The guilt is what's making me do it – my hand scrabbles in my pocket, notices that last time I used the razor I forgot to wrap the tissue around it, as my hand closes the palm immediately is cut by the sharp, cold metal – the guilt is causing my bleeding hand to slice, and cut, and tear through all of the fading scars and watch in fascination as the blood drips down, it streams, flows, tumbles, drips, and I can't stop staring at it…

I don't realize I'm mumbling to myself until I hear the words, "My fault, my fault, my fault, my fault," floating in the crisp sea air and realize that nobody else is on the deck but me, not even any Heartless, just me cutting the shit out of my arms and mumbling, knowing that it's my fault that Sora is tainted and that his innocence is lost and that I'll always be the one to blame for it. My fault, my fault, my fault, my mind echoes the words escaping my constricted throat, now I'm crying, the tears are flowing and there's nothing I can do about it. Oh God, my fault…

Hope is gone. Sora is tainted.

_To Be Continued_

_Author's notes: Man, this whole chapter is pretty weird. Sorry about that. Wow…the end was so much easier to write than the beginning. Anyway, I know that the timeline is rather awkward and difficult to understand in this chapter, so I'll outline it just in case: In the beginning, in italics, Riku is still on Destiny Islands. He finds the letter, and after the letter, he is in Neverland, on Captain Hook's ship, during the same time as the very first chapter of this story._

_Anyway…I will say right now that I know the grammar is atrocious in the end after Riku discovers Sora. It's kind of supposed to be, it shows how Riku's mind kind of snaps after he sees his former best friend, the one who told him never to cut again, the one that wrote him the letter that made him stop cutting for almost a year, cutting himself. Oh, the irony. I have to say I really like the end…much better than the rest of the chapter. Yuck. It just sounds so forced to me up until Riku finds Sora. Oh well, you can't win them all, I suppose._

_Anyway, I hope that this chapter helps to make up for the long amount of time it's been since an update…yet again, I have no excuse for not updating. The best explanation I have is this: it takes a lot out of me to write about this subject. I like to, because it helps keep me from doing it myself, but I need to dig pretty deep inside of myself to write about things such as this, so it usually takes me a long time before I can. Thank you for reading, in any case, especially if you have stuck by me for this long. I really do love you guys!_

_In any case…I have no idea how long it will take me to update. Thanks again for sticking by me if you still have, and even if you haven't, thank you. You guys reading this are awesome._

_And, AntiSora, thanks again for everything. You're a great friend and really are helping me out through this. Email me! We haven't chatted for a while._

_If any of you have any questions about self-injury or anything of the like, feel free to email me. I will do my best to answer any and all questions you have about the subject. Oh, and please don't flame about the SI. After all, it's what the whole story is about. And sorry about the length of my notes. I'll try to make them shorter next time. Thanks again, I love you all… PP_


	8. Riku's Tale, Fall

_Worthless, the Second Story, Fall: by Phoenix Pinion_

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, simply the story idea. Please do not sue_

_**WARNING – This story contains vivid scenes of self-injury. It can be triggering to those who injure themselves. SI is extremely dangerous and not to be taken lightly. If SI disturbs you, offends you, or if reading about it is triggering to you, then by all means, DON'T READ.**_

"What were you thinking? …Seriously, what the _hell_ were you thinking?" Hollow Bastion seemed cold and empty that night as Maleficent stormed up and down, pacing jerkily, furiously, in front of the boy. Sitting quietly in a small chair, simply sitting, Riku was there as well, staring vacantly at his arms. Palms up (the right one laced with a pink, rutted cut), the scars were exposed to the world, to Riku's blank eyes, to Maleficent's probing, furious eyes, to anyone who cared to look. He didn't care enough to hide the long, jagged pink scars like he once did. The four new scars that he had inflicted in Neverland, the scars that had caused so much trouble, glared out bright red, still tinged with drying blood, from amongst his pink lines and milky skin. They were deeper than any he had ever attempted on himself. But everything was his fault, so why not? _Why not ruin myself just as I ruined Sora?_

"_Look_ at me!" Livid with anger and the fact that Riku was completely ignoring her, Maleficent seized Riku's chin and wrenched it up so his face met her eyes. Reluctantly he tore his gaze from those terrible scars and looked expressionlessly into hers. Shaken by his empty gaze, she turned away then stared at the tiny razor in her hand, coated deep red in dried blood. She had found it in Riku's hand about thirty minutes before, on the deck of the pirate ship. The razor was in the hand that was dripping shamelessly with the life-giving liquid; his left arm was so smeared with the same that at first she was completely bewildered as to what was going on. Horrified, she could only stare as he viciously stabbed himself vertically, seemingly as hard as he could, with that tiny razor, then _dragged_ it a good three inches up his arm. The skin separated seamlessly to the razor's persuasion, and the blood welled up to join the rest on his beautiful milky skin. She stared in hopeless shock as he shook, blood pouring not only from his wrist but also from the vein he had just deeply, irreparably slit. She still watched as he rocked slowly, losing consciousness, and his crooning that was slowly fading in volume finally reached her ears: "My fault my fault my fault my fault," and Maleficent gathered her senses enough to hurriedly cast a Curaga spell on the wretched, dying boy before he breathed his last tortured breath. As his newest, nastiest wounds slowly closed in upon themselves, veins healing first, then skin layer by layer until the blood and a large, ugly scar remained, Riku collapsed. His faint was to be expected not only from the massive blood loss, then recovery, that he had just been subject to, but also from his obvious mental shock. As Maleficent kept him with her, traveling back to Hollow Bastion as quickly as possible, stealing small glances at the boy who was now awake but also completely oblivious to the world around him, she found her shock rapidly turning to anger, then fury.

And now here they were in the main hall of Hollow Bastion. "Well?" She continued to shout at the boy, though it was obvious her anger was not vexing or affecting him in the slightest. "Do you have any idea how careless and _stupid_ that was? You could have died, and then where would we have been?" After all the yelling she had done in the past few minutes, Maleficent still paced, and Riku still stared at those scars. To say the least, she was completely stunned and also quite shaken that Riku had the nerve to do something so incredibly idiotic. Having seen the awful scars before, and noticing when they multiplied or diminished, she was well aware that Riku had and still was injuring himself. She did not know how he did it (something that angered her more than the fact of the matter itself), but she also did not feel that his self-injury was a serious threat to her or her plans. After all, Riku was a smart boy, or at least a safe one, and though he took risks with himself and others, he would never go too far. He was simply far too important to her plans to be so ridiculously foolish.

Maybe naively, she had believed this, and for a time, Riku's behavior satisfied this belief. New scars occurred, but he always remained alive and well, until just a half-hour ago. How could he have tried to kill himself? Didn't he realize just how important he was to Maleficent's plans? "You _stupid boy_," she hissed, striking the side of his head hard with her staff and watching with a surprising amount of numbness as his head flung limply the other way and blood slowly started dying his white hair a dark red. "Without you, I cannot reclaim the keyblade from Sora and open Kingdom Hearts! Don't you understand me? How could you have been so careless?"

Still, Riku was silent. He said nothing of his importance or of his role in Maleficent's plan. He did not mention finding Sora, his former best friend, cutting desperately and unashamedly in the cabin _because of Riku's own stupidity_. He simply stared at Maleficent until she turned away then averted his eyes back to the terribly glorious (or gloriously terrible?) scars. As he stared at them, at the awkwardly healed-too-soon skin that had scarred layers on top of layers, he only saw Sora's arm, bleeding, cut, scarred from previous encounters of the same sort. He only imagined the diary and the realization, the total realization, that _it was all his fault._

As Maleficent stared at the scars with eyes that had not lost any of their fury, she finally realized the ace she was holding. "I still have your razor, boy!" She crowed, holding it out at him. "I won't give it back to you unless you talk to me." Of course, she had no intention of giving back the object she had tore her hair out for months trying to find on him, the object that had continued to cut him while she wondered _how _and _why_. It was his one power against her, that razor, his one measure of control in a life that was no longer his to control.

She waited for a response, but got none; he no longer cared even about his most precious possession, the only thing that had and would ever give him the satisfaction of seeing Maleficent bewildered and furious. At the moment, Riku simply couldn't listen or even register her presence. Whatever had shocked him had truly, deeply shaken him to the core. And as the scars burned themselves deeply in her memory, how could even Maleficent see that she worried about his numbness, his shock, his wish to die? A selfish worry, indeed, because she only wanted him alive and well so he could gather the keyblade for her. Once that feat was accomplished, she planned on casting him aside and forgetting about him forever. However thin the concern was, however, it was still there. And Riku was still _ignoring_ it…!

With a final, wordless shriek of fury, she tried to release some of her rage by striking him once more, hard, on the head with her staff. And she watched as her violence caused him to fall limply off of the chair and lay, curled up in a small, emotionless ball, on the floor; looking at those scars, Maleficent finally realized it would never work. Stomping her foot, one last, childish gesture of anger, she then stormed out of the room, leaving Riku alone; she had failed in breaking his already broken, battered and weeping spirit.

_To be continued_

_Author's notes: For once I wrote this chapter knowing exactly what to make the next chapter about. Nice, eh?…Yeah so it's been awhile. I won't deny the fact that I'm incredibly unreliable. If I actually feel like writing a chapter to any of my stories, I can do it in less than an hour. I just have to want to do it, and I have to have the privacy to do it too. And I hardly ever have the privacy, though I often want to do it. So, I'm really sorry. I understand if all of you guys have completely given up on me and everything I write._

_And hey. This story is mostly just Maleficent trying to get Riku to talk to her about why he almost killed himself, albeit unknowingly, on the deck. Maleficent's furious of course. The next chapter will be Riku's thoughts on the matter and what he decides to do next._

_Well, um. Thanks for reading, if you do. J I love you guys, truly. I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as I can, but no guarantees. Bye, PP_


	9. Riku's Tale, Fall Continued

_Worthless, the Second Story, Fall (continued): by Phoenix Pinion_

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, simply the story idea. Please do not sue_

_**WARNING – This story contains vivid scenes of self-injury. It can be triggering to those who injure themselves. SI is extremely dangerous and not to be taken lightly. If SI disturbs you, offends you, or if reading about it is triggering to you, then by all means, DON'T READ.**_

I saw him. I saw him doing it, and that made me do it too. Seeing him dig that dagger deep into his skin and whimper, just a little, at the pain and adrenaline rush, made me want to do it too. Seeing him carve his arm like a turkey made me look at my own scars and remember in full force the reasons why I had once done it as well. Seeing the blood staining himself and the floor made me shiver, made the feelings of sweat and dizziness of blood loss return to me. In seeing him do it, I couldn't help but do it myself too.

After all, it wasn't my fault. It was his. He was the one who chose to read my diary. He was the one who picked it up and opened the cover and read my confused, anguished rantings. It wasn't my fault I forgot it on the beach. No, it was his fault for reading it. I didn't leave it there on purpose, and I didn't mean for him to read it either.

_Sure you didn't. Why'd you leave it there then, huh? Was it really an accident, or a cry for help?_

…Oh God, who am I kidding? _I _was the one who left it on the beach. That's an invitation in itself. Why am I such a pathetic, horrible bastard, making up excuses and shifting the blame for my own actions? It's not Sora's fault that he was subject to my unbearably tortured thoughts. He's the one who's had to deal with the guilt and knowledge that I do something so terrible to my own body. He's the one who received the knowledge and purported joy of self-injury from my journal and my scarred arms. **It's all my fault. **Why can't I just fucking **accept** it?

_You already did accept it. Look at those nasty little scars you made just a few hours ago. That's acceptance if I ever saw it._

No! No…I did it because he did it. Because he reminded me I _can._ Not because it's my fault, or because I had anything to do with it. Not because…I was the one who first instilled that thought into his mind…I was the one who first gave him the idea…

Oh God…it's my fault my fault my fault **my fault…**

I was the one who tainted Sora. I took away his innocence and his love of life. How long has he been doing it? That may have been the first time. But he could have started early, like me…he could have started the day I first rejected him and embraced the darkness. What if he decided to cut himself because I shunned his friendship? What if he did it because I never talked to him about my self-injurious behavior? What have I done…?

_Don't give yourself so much credit, you little brat. He never admired or looked up to you anyway. Sure, you gave him the idea. But it's not like he cuts himself to honor you._

But…he wrote me a letter. He told me I didn't have to do it, that there was other ways of letting out my depression and anger and frustration and guilt and sadness. **He** told **me** not to do it. And I believed him, god damnit! I believed it when he said that there were people who loved me. I only wanted to cut and scratch and hurt and maim and **bleed **after I stopped believing. Because by then I saw his other friends that he chose instead of me. I saw he had moved on and because I couldn't find Kairi, I believed Maleficent…

I believed it when she whispered in my ear that all of my friends had chosen to abandon me. Because he did…didn't he? It wasn't my fault that we lost track of each other after the world door was opened. We lost track of each other not because I let the darkness consume me and he didn't, but because he wanted to abandon me. Right?

_Whatever happened then doesn't change the fact that Sora is now just as bad as you. Just as depressed, anguished and hurting. And now he's hurting on the inside as well as out. Doesn't that just tear you up inside, knowing that you caused your former best friend all this pain and suffering?_

It aches so fucking bad…It's my fault, my fault and I can't do anything about it. Oh God, all I see is that tortured expression on his face…that trembling he had in his bleeding arm and hand holding that shaking dagger…I was the one who put the idea into his head. He might have even figured out how to do it from my journal. What could be so wrong with his life…? Why could he feel so bad as to want to punish himself?

…Is it…me?

I've fucked up his life so much…All I've ever done is make him worry about me, or make him sad, or shunned him when he needed me, or even physically beat him once in a while back on Destiny Islands. It doesn't matter that we were just jesting with wooden swords. Somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, I **wanted **to hurt him…I relished those tears he shed once, the helpless embarrassed tears that came after I hit him a little too hard on the head and made him tumble off of the cliff and onto the beach below us. I'm such a sick person. All I've done is ruined his life. First leaving that journal on the beach…giving him a reason to pity me. Giving him one more thing to worry about. Then shunning him and denying his friendship. After all, he did it to me first. And now…seeing him ruining his own life after I've come so close to simply doing it for him.

All I've ever done is hurt him. God, what a fucked-up bastard I am. I can't even have a friendship with someone; all I want to do is make them suffer. Well, I've succeeded.

_You certainly have. What a sick fuck._

I hate myself. I hate myself for all that I've done to him. I couldn't even help him when I saw the blood. When my horrified eyes saw the scene in that room, all I could do was run. I ran like a coward and let him continue to cut. I turned a blind eye to his injuries…fuck, I don't even know if he's still alive. I doubt he'd want to kill himself, but he might have accidentally cut too deep…

And all I did was watch him ruin his life, then run away when I could have helped him.

God, I hate myself…why am I alive? Why do I exist? Is it only to create misery in others? Am I here solely to have a terrible life and force that mindset onto other people as well?

_Seems like it. Because, of course, that seems to be all that you've done in the course of your shitty life._

No! I can't think that way…I don't **want **to think that way. I want to think that I've been able to do some good in this world. But without an example to back it up, then I guess…

But what about my mom? Did I ever do good in her life? I must have…right? And Sora's mom…she always loved it when I spent the night there or stayed over for dinner. Was I ever able to help Wakka, or Tidus, or Selphie? I must have helped **someone…**

_Get off your high horse, kid. Do you really think they enjoyed the company? Liked having you around? They _pitied you_, you worthless fool. They only let you hang around so they could make themselves feel better._

But…if that's true, then the only thing I can do is ruin people's lives….it's all I'm good for…

_He's finally getting it!_

I'm worthless…I'm so **fucking worthless**! God, I want to die. I don't want to remain in this world if I'm only a stain on those around me…I want a razor so I can cut away every last bit of doubt, cruelty, darkness, and every other bit that remains!

_You should. Find something sharp. Do it, I dare you._

Wait…I…I don't want to kill myself yet. I don't want to feel this way anymore… I want to feel like I have a purpose in life. Like I can actually do something worthwhile. I have to prove myself, show myself that I can really be someone, not just a bastard with a heart of darkness and scars inside and out.

…I have to do something I'm good at…

_Remember_ _Sora…_

Sora…of course! What is his most prized possession? What is the one thing that would make him lose what little hope he has left if I took it from him? I already have Kairi, so she's out of the equation. His friends seem important; I wonder if they've figured out his dirty little secret yet…and of course that keyblade of his is practically his life. It's the only thing that makes him more powerful than me. He holds the ace when he has it…

**I have to separate him from that keyblade. **Once I do that, Sora's life will be worth nothing. His friends will follow me, as they only follow the keyblade master. It's the only way I can redeem myself. The only way to give this pathetic life some meaning…the only way…

**_It's the only way._**

"It's the only way…" No one was in the room to hear these quiet words mumbled by the boy curled into a ball on the floor, the boy with blood dripping from his head and scars all over his arms. No one heard him but himself and his twisted mind. After uttering those fateful, decisive words, Riku's eyes closed and he fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

_To Be Continued…?_

_Author's Notes: This chapter, besides the very last paragraph, is entirely Riku's thoughts while Maleficent is unsuccessfully attempting to interrogate him. It takes place at the exact same time as the last chapter. The italicized portion are his self-doubts, you might say…that little voice in the back of everyone's head. Riku's self-doubt is a little more nasty than most, however. (And if you notice, his self-doubt overtakes and conquers him in the end…hmmm.) In my opinion, Riku wanted to take Sora's keyblade more for himself than for Maleficent. He wanted to prove to himself that he's better than Sora and that he deserves to live. But that, of course, is just my opinion._

_By the way, this chapter is completely different from anything else I've ever written before. It was somewhat of a challenge to write, too. It's much more difficult than one would imagine to write about someone's thoughts after going through such a traumatic experience and still have it make sense. At least, I hope this makes sense. And poor Riku. At this point, I think he's gone completely crazy. I hope you guys like it…it doesn't seem to be something I normally write. If you do or if you don't, I'd still enjoy getting a review about it. After all, I'm majoring in English/creative writing at a university next year, and I'd like some feedback on this kind of thing, if you guys would be so kind! I'd be eternally grateful if you do._

_P.S. I, um, kind of have no idea what to write for this story anymore. I realized this could sort of be a stopping point for Riku's story, but I think I want to write a bit about the ending of the game and Riku's thoughts on that. Let me know if you want me to do that, or if you'd rather I'd just stop. Thanks again, guys. You're amazing! PP_


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